


My Empire of Dirt

by jo_anne_storm



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Jenna Cameron - Freeform, Kyle Valenti - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo_anne_storm/pseuds/jo_anne_storm
Summary: Memorial Day is not a happy day for veterans.





	My Empire of Dirt

Alex took a deep breath before exiting his Explorer and heading into Albertsons. He didn’t want to be here, not today of all days. Usually, he would have packed in enough groceries to last through the entire week and avoided town. He’d also been known to raise a glass for a Force buddy or two, in one of their apartments, not at a bar. But this year he had been busy chasing leads about his father and Project Shepherd and the day had snuck up on him. He had come out of his mental tunnel vision of hacking to discover that he had eaten his reserves of easy snacks. He didn’t even have bread.

So here he was, at Albersons, on Memorial Day.

He usually preferred Farmer’s Country Market. He liked the small store feel of it and the fact that it was not a huge chain store. He liked the quirky piñatas for sale and the butcher that was happy to answer questions about cuts of meat. He liked the cashiers who asked how he was feeling without being intrusive.

But not today. Today, he wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him. Where he was just another shopper trying to get a deal. 

He almost turned around when he saw the older gentleman by the doors, Legion cap firmly in place, sitting on a stool and offering paper poppies to anyone who would donate. Instead, he gritted his teeth, made eye contact, nodded politely, and hurried into the too bright, too clean store.

Inside, large, obnoxious signs declared Memorial Day specials, ribs, corn, and watermelon. Charcoal and canned baked beans. Red, white, and blue bunting decorated the soffits over the deli and meat sections. American flags hung over the large glass doors and several products had America themed displays.

Alex felt his jaw clench tighter in anger as he grabbed a cart and tried to hurry his way through the store. Because it wasn’t his usual haunt, he kept having to stop and search for what he needed. The Jiffy was to the left of the JFG here, not the right. His preferred brand of bread was out of stock. People kept parking their carts in the middle of the aisle, forcing him to wait until the other shopper had moved on before he could continue to search for the products that would get him through the rest of the week.

He finally made it through the store and hit the check out lines. One side had at least a dozen self-check kiosks, manned by a single gentleman who rushed from flashing red light to flashing red light as he helped with loyalty cards and coupons.

The manned registers were not much better. Three open registers with at least three customers waiting in line. Alex joined the line that looked the most promising and just wished that the day would be over.

He chose the wrong line, of course. The woman in front of him had trouble with her debit card’s microchip and had to try several times before the cashier swiped it through on her computer. Then, with a muttered apology, the cashier closed out her drawer and switched with her replacement.

“Hi! How are you today,” the new cashier asked. His voice was the wrong side of high pitched and he seemed to have no volume control. At all.

Alex tried to smile politely as the man started scanning his items.

“Big plans today? A barbeque, maybe,” he asked as he scanned the ground beef Alex had chosen.

“No.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I love a good barbeque, you know? And today is a good enough excuse to have one, right? Not that I have a three day weekend, hazards of working customer service.”

Alex was pretty sure he could hear his teeth start to crack from the pressure of his clenched jaw.

“Com’on, man, you gotta celebrate Memorial Day, right?”

“Can I please have my total?”

“Yeah, sure, I just need to see your ID for the beer.”

Alex carefully pulled his license from behind his Military ID and handed it over.

“Great, man. Total’s $52.75. Maybe a romantic dinner with the girlfriend instead of a friend barbeque? I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

Alex inserted his debit card into the reader and tried to ignore the man’s inane chatter. Not that it seemed to deter him. He. Just. Kept. Talking.

“Here’s your receipt. Have a happy Memorial Day.”

Alex grabbed his cart and hustled out of the store. The man with the poppies nodded to him as he practically ran past. Alex was sure he was imagining the understanding in his eyes. There was nothing about Alex that declared him anything more than a civilian with a bad attitude.

He loaded his groceries into the Explorer and barely managed to not peel out of the parking lot. He had made it, though. No one had recognized him. No one had awkwardly thanked him for his service. As if they knew anything about “service” and “sacrifice”. Most of the time, they couldn’t even find Iraq on a map, much less know how many soldiers were currently deployed to the Middle East. Over five thousand in Iraq and fourteen thousand in Afghanistan, for the record. So much for an end to the war.

Cam and Kyle were sitting on his porch when he pulled up; Cam with a sixer at her feet and another beer in hand. Kyle had his head tilted over the back of his rocking chair, seemingly dozing.

“If one more person thanks me for my service, I’m going to throat punch them. I don’t care who it is,” Cam said. 

“What are you doing here,” Alex asked as he hefted a bag and made his way up the steps. “And are you going to be useful, Kyle, and help carry shit in?”

“Fuck him, he’s just the DD,” Cam answered as she got up and went to the Explorer. “I had to get out of town. Someone thought it was a bright idea to hold a service at the cemetery and the only reason I wasn’t forced to go was because I was off duty. Told dumbass there to get me as far away from town as he could. We ended up here.”

“In my defense,” Kyle muttered, not moving from his seat. “I had just come off a double and you had a fucking scary look in your eye. I figured it was better to comply than to be the recipient of a throat punch.”

Cam made an indelicate sound and followed Alex into the cabin, her arms loaded down with bags. “I wouldn’t bother to throat punch you, Valenti. I’d just kick you in the balls.” Her burdens deposited, she wandered back out to the porch.

Alex put away the groceries and listened to Cam and Kyle snark back and forth. Kyle’s voice was slurred with exhaustion while Cam’s was sharp with anger. She wasn’t actually mad at Kyle, though. Just mad in general.

He pulled out two tumblers and added whiskey before joining them, wordlessly handing one to Cam and leaning back against the railing. 

“The cashier at Albertsons told me the weekend was a good excuse for a barbeque,” Alex told them, lifting his glass in a mock salute. 

“To inappropriate barbeques,” Cam toasted.

“To being thanked for your service,” Alex returned. They both took a sip. Alex could feel his shoulders relax a millimeter. 

“To graveyard services held by people who have no idea.”

“And homecoming parades,” Alex said. 

“Yellow ribbons around every lamp post and door.”

“Support our troops bumper stickers.”

“Memorial Day sales in every store,” Cam said.

“And the radio station playing ‘patriotic themed’ songs.”

“Social media posts about Memorial Day that get posted on Labor Day.”

Alex almost snorted his whiskey out of his nose at that one. 

“Who did that?”

“My aunt. It gets better. When I pointed out that Labor Day weekend really is an excuse for a three day weekend, she said that she reposted it from an Army unit’s Facebook page.”

Alex groaned in exasperation. 

“I haven’t even been on social media today,” she continued. “There are too many posts I don’t want to see.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. Williams’ wife would probably post something on his memorial page. Last year it had been a picture of his gravestone at Arlington. Alex had not been able to attend the funeral due to a massive infection. His doctors had threatened to tie him down when he tried to get out of that damned hospital bed anyway.

He had made it to Hancock’s funeral, only because the poor bastard had held on for another six months before succumbing to pneumonia, his lungs too weak from all the trauma to fight it off. 

Kwan had been sent home in a body bag after faulty wiring had electrocuted him in the fucking shower two months ago. Alex had gone into his bunker and had gotten blackout drunk instead of going to his funeral.

“To those we’ve lost,” he toasted, his voice hoarse.

“To those we’ve lost,” Cam agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by my own experience of having a loved one with PTSD. Media usually shows it as anxiety attacks and flashbacks. Sometimes it is unreasonable anger, depression, and a feeling of hopelessness. 
> 
> https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/post-traumatic-stress-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20355967
> 
> Title comes from the song "Hurt" by Trent Reznor.


End file.
